Sleeping Sickness
by Blissful Lissy
Summary: Mello is awoken from a restless sleep, disturbed by dreams of a boy in white. Mello/Near. Inspired by "Sleeping Sickness" by City and Colour.


Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

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Tugged harshly and suddenly from a restless slumber, a tall, thin frame nearly toppled off the couch it resided on. The young man attempted to push away the fair hair that was plastered to his cheeks and forehead. On the way, a hand barely brushed the scarred skin that adorned his face. Involuntarily, he shuddered with revulsion.

His chest felt weighed down, his lungs sore. It was then that he realized that his sleeping position hadn't been an ideal one, what with him lying on his stomach, firm couch cushion jammed into his throat at an odd angle. It was no wonder he had awoken from air restriction. He must have been thrashing around in his sleep again. Inwardly, he grasped at the corner of a dream-or had it been a nightmare?-but it vanished as soon as he acknowledged it had been there in the first place.

This wasn't where he had envisioned himself. Catching Kira was his goal, yes, but this…this was fruitless and desperate searching. At first, things had been progressing rather well; he had obtained the murder notebook…only to have it snatched from his gloved clutches. And all he had to show for it was a grotesque scar that reflected his insecurities.

He was down, but not out. Still, he felt shaken by the dream that seemed to linger. If only he could remember what it had been about…but all that lingered was an expanse of white nothingness.

Lifting himself from the couch, Mello headed for the kitchen to fetch a bar of chocolate-his drug of choice. Usually, he might have called out to Matt to come and offer his company. But he was currently away on some task Mello had assigned to him. The details currently escaped him, not that he particularly cared at the moment. The leather pants that he was too exhausted to discard before collapsing on the couch a few hours ago squeaked as he reclined back on the couch with his treat. His mind was foggy, but sleep was out of the question. The chocolate bar hung from his lips as he simply sat, clear blue eyes staring off listlessly.

Images of the bothersome dream washed over him. Rolling clouds of white engulfed a pale, hunched body. The boy almost blended in with the white of the scene, but the white of the boy was brighter, crisper, cleaner than his surroundings. So blindingly white, the scene morphed into a washed-out grey behind him. A mop of white curls obscured the vision of a pair of large and soft grey eyes. Mello wanted to reach out, to brush a few curls away. To stare into the dull grey pools until he drowned in their expanse.

Near. How was it that the boy haunted him even when unconscious? The boy with whom he shared a one-sided rivalry had always occupied Mello's thoughts, but since their encounter at the SPK, he often found himself having to push away thoughts of the annoyingly brilliant boy he had bitterly warred with his for most of his life. Snapping back to reality, he noticed the bar of chocolate in his leather-clad lap. When had it fallen?

Mello acted quickly, pulling on boots and shrugging on the vest and red hooded jacket that had been tossed in a crumpled heap. He had to act quickly, or he might lose momentum, misplace the drive to do what he had set his mind on. Though he knew it wouldn't happen. He had grown into himself a bit more since Wammy's, learned to have more control over the rampant emotions that ravaged his body, but his nature of being rash and impulsive would never fade. The plain and simple truth was he didn't want to give himself the time to come to his senses and seriously think about what he was doing.

Finding his way back to the SPK headquarters was easy. After "escorting" Halle there previously, every detail of the building's location and appearance was burned into Mello's mind. Finding a way inside was a bit more problematic. At the dead of night, he couldn't exactly request to be let in. A trip around the building by motorcycle served its purpose and he discovered a rickety fire escape snaking up the building's side.

He began the climb, disregarding the creaky complaints of the escape beneath his boots. Adrenaline was high. It was now just a matter of finding the right floor. Heart pounding, he pushed away the doubts that bombarded his brain, letting his impulses swell and crash over him, giving him the extra push needed to continue climbing, searching.

Peering in every window accessible, he found the floor belonging to Near. To anyone else, there would have been no tell-tale sign that the pale genius resided there, but Mello knew. It was plain. It was white. And it might have been his hopeful eyes playing tricks, but he thought he could see a plastic blue robot standing guard.

The window, surprisingly, opened easily. Was this Near being careless, or something else? He didn't think it was possible for Near to be so sloppy as to leave himself completely vulnerable unless he had some sort of motive. No matter. He was inside now.

The white room led to yet another room, this one containing a bed. And in that bed resided Near, who almost blended into the white linen of the sheets. Stealthily, Mello approached. The younger boy was nestled into the sheets, curled into himself. The longer Mello stared, the brighter he seemed. Just like in his dream, the background of sheets dulled in comparison with Near's pale form.

The lean frame of Mello began to tremble. Whether from anticipation or resentment or something else, he couldn't tell. The frail body wrapped in sheets was subconsciously aware of being the victim of such a heated gaze, and after a few seconds of barely noticeable movement, eyelids lifted to reveal grey eyes. "Mello," He murmured softly and sleepily.

Rather taken aback at the tranquil greeting, Mello took a seat on the bed and removed his jacket. "Near," he replied, struggling to keep his voice just as steady. He reached out, stroked the delicate jaw of his rival with a black-painted nail. This earned a shiver from Near who, not to be outdone, stretched a hand out to touch the scarred side of Mello's face. Lightly, he traced the rather distinct line of where smooth skin met marred and rough scar tissue. His fingers were cool but Mello felt as if his flesh was burning again.

Cupping a pale cheek, Mello tilted Near's face to look him properly in the eye. As the space between the diminished, Near kept his eyes open and they dilated slightly when Mello's lips captured his own in something that screamed harsh and sweet, want and need.

Mello woke with a start, heart thumping so painfully hard that it seemed he was given a heart attack straight from Kira himself. He blinked once, attempting vainly to clear his thoughts when he realized his fingers had been resting on his lips as he slept.


End file.
